The Schiavo Thing

Like approximately everyone else on the planet, I read the news today that Terri Schiavo had died. And as in every other workplace on the planet, this touched off a long conversation about related matters.

So I listened to Stella talking about what it was like for her to have open-heart surgery, how scary it was to know that her mother's "goodbye" might be the last one she ever heard, and how based on that experience she had decided that, short of extraordinary measures, she would prefer to be allowed to live regardless of her condition.

And I listened to her and Martin and Ruby, who are retirement age, talk about how precious life is, how scary it is to think that in a situation like this, all that could be standing between you and death is the decision of one person who may or may not have your best interests in mind.

They also talked about being willing to disregard the express wishes of a dying friend or family member if they disagreed with the dying person's choices--which, to me, is just as scary in a different way--and then they went off on superstitious tangents about "harvesting organs" and the like.

I was quiet during this exchange, having learned: opinions like mine are better left unexpressed, especially when dealing with older people or people who think they're wiser, or anyone even remotely religious. Opinions like mine are the kind that get you the stink-eye in the hallway and whispers behind your back for months.

Because here's the thing: I'm not afraid to die. I am afraid of the -process- of dying; I don't like scary things or things that hurt--but I am supremely comfortable with the thought of not existing anymore.

"Oh, but each of us is so unique and life is so precious and..." Yeah, yeah, I know. Except I don't entirely buy it.

I am unique. No argument. But would the world be a lesser place without my particular combination of traits? Probably not, is my guess. I am very, very small. My life is one of billions that will begin and end in the life-span of the human race. Who am I to say that my one particular combination of traits is any more valuable, any more worthy of the vast expenditure of resources required to continue its existence, than any of the others who don't have access to the same resources? And if my brain is non-functional, then I am no longer the sum of the particular combination of traits that allegedly made me so valuable in the first place. It just seems like hubris to claim to be so irreplaceable.

"What about the people who love you, though?" Okay, first? That's a small, small population. And I don't mean that in a self-pitying kind of way--even if 100 people would really grieve my death (not the kind of emotion where you cry at the funeral and then go back about your business and think about the person once or twice a year--I mean REAL grief, and I know almost no one for whom a hundred people would feel that kind of pain if they died)--but even if a hundred people would be really touched by me in that way, it's still an infinitesimal fraction of the human race. And second? Not to be callous, but--it happens. We will all die. We will all die either before someone we love or after them--we will either leave them the grief or experience it ourselves, and more often than not we'll do both. Those stories about couples who die within minutes of each other at a ripe old age--well, that's just really good luck, is what that is. The rest of us will either hurt or be hurt by death. So as for the people who love me? I don't suppose "I'm sorry" would cover it, but it would have to be about the only thing to say, under the circumstances.

But that's me. I respect Stella's wish to be kept alive by almost any means, even if I don't agree. It's not what I would ask for myself, though.

Reading that, I'm sure you'd be expecting me to come out on the side of Michael Schiavo--but you'd be wrong. I think Michael Schiavo should never sleep another peaceful night in his life, personally.

My objection to Terri Schiavo's death isn't about the precious nature of life or the irreplaceability of any given human being. My objection is to how it was done and why.

I don't doubt the testimonials of hospice workers as to the "peaceful" and "good" deaths they've witnessed after the removal of feeding tubes in terminal patients.

In terminal patients.

Terri Schiavo was not a woman emaciated by months and years of futile cancer treatment. She was not, until they removed her feeding tube, in the last days of her life and experiencing multiple organ failures.

She was 41 years old--an age at which the rest of us can reasonably expect to live another 25 years or more--and she was physically healthy. She was neurologically compromised--but her body was functional. She could breathe on her own, and her heart was beating.

To starve a physically-healthy person for thirteen days, denying them even hydration--to me, that's neither a good nor peaceful death. True, we don't know what she is capable of feeling--but in a case like that, shouldn't we assume the worst? Shouldn't we assume that on some level she CAN experience pain (and if she can't experience pain, then why the morphine? She either can or she can't--it seemed to me like bets were being hedged here.) If you are so determined that she die, then do at least what we do for the so-called criminals our government allows and encourages us to kill: lethal injection. If we don't permit death by starvation to perpetrators of heinous crimes, why do we allow it to happen to a woman whose worst "crime" was developing an eating disorder?

Then, too, there's the husband. And here I speak only from a gut reaction: I don't trust that man. I don't like the way he conducted himself. I think there was something less than "Terri's wishes" at the heart of his decision-making process. And I thought he treated her family in an absolutely shameful manner. However, since I'm not him, a gut reaction is all I have to go on. But this I know: whatever my stance on extraordinary measures, I think the decision should have been left with Terri's parents and blood relations. Husbands come and go--I speak from experience--and I would rather have life-and-death decisions made by a blood relative. There's not a man on earth I would trust with that decision, if I'd left no written instructions.

(And yeah, should you wonder, I'm a hypocrite--I would have let JP decide for me in a heartbeat. But that was different.)

I hope Terri Schiavo is at peace. And I hope for peace for her family, eventually, because god knows they're not going to get any for a while. I don't think there was a right answer here--but there were a lot of wrong ones.